


Take care of the toy

by Anonymous



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Genital Torture, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Stockholm Syndrome, Twisted Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a hydra trash meme prompt.  Brock Rumlow has a thing about taking care of toys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1989

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags. Really. 
> 
> This story contains all the usual for the hydra trash party, with an (un)healthy dose of outright sadism. Rumlow/Winter Soldier, with some suggestions of a not entirely professional relationship between Rumlow and Pierce.

The asset dangled from his wrists. His arms were locked into a heavy duty spreader bar that was attached to the ceiling by a chain. They had him stretched taut and his toes were just barely able to support his weight. It was a sight that had turned Rumlow on in ways he had not expected. To see that hard body, that graceful, ruthless killing machine he had watched in the field hours before dance on tip-toes, struggle with balance, show the whites of his eyes as the STRIKE team gathered and stripped off holsters and tac vests, made something twist inside Rumlow, something he had always known was there but had never been able to indulge. 

He was the newest member of the team and this was his first time out with the Soldier. The others had laughed as they had returned from the mission. They had slapped him on the back, told him how lucky he was to have a deployment within his first year. Others had been on STRIKE for two, three, even five years before they got to see the Soldier in action and partake in after-mission fun. 

Mostly he had watched, leaning against the wall, slowly stroking his dick. He tried not to be disappointed in his teammates and their lack of creativity. All that, helpless, there for their use, and the best they could come up with was a few half hearted strikes with their clubs, or fucking it with its legs wrapped around their waist while they jerked it off. They missed the point, entirely. 

Then it was Rumlow’s turn. He almost lost his nerve. He stood behind the asset and lifted his hand to stroke the rippled muscles and fading welts his teammates had left, but then he dropped his hand and started to step back. This was too good for him. Too much. 

Pierce stepped behind him and touched the small of his back. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Go ahead. I’ve read your profile. I know what you are. You can do what you want.” Rumlow looked at him, searching. “Go ahead,” Pierce repeated, his voice taking on an edge. It was an order. 

Rumlow pulled his baton from his belt. Pierce’s hand moved to Rumlow’s shoulder and he stood close, watching as Rumlow worked the textured grip into the Soldier’s body. The hole was already loose and swollen and dripping with cum and blood and lube. The sandpaper-like texture on the grip caught and pulled on the tender flesh. Rumlow slowly forced it in, centimeter by centimeter, twisting it as he went. 

“I like your style, kid,” Pierce murmured. 

Blood ran down the asset’s legs, but Rumlow ignored that, furrowing his brow in concentration. Every little bit tore a tiny whimper from the asset. Yes, this is what he wanted. This is exactly what he wanted. He felt his own cock become rigid as the asset’s cries became sobs. 

Slipping out from under Pierce’s grasp, he walked around the asset, keeping his hand on the baton. Wrapping his arms around the asset, taking the baton in both hands, he ordered, “Soldier, look at me.” 

The Soldier lifted his head slowly and met his eyes with a haggard, hollow look. Even after all he had been through, there was still fight there. Rumlow could see it and it sent a quiet thrill through him. “Don’t break eye contact,” Rumlow ordered as he slowly pulled the baton out and pressed it back in. The tight, wide-eyed expression slowly took on a glassy daze. The feel of the trembling body, sweaty with the strain yet submissive, taking the excruciating abuse he was carefully drawing out, was everything he had hoped. 

He came in a rush, his seed painting the asset’s stomach and running down the asset’s legs, mixing with the blood that dribbled to the floor and pooled at his feet. When he was done, he stepped back, pulling the baton from the asset’s ass and he looked around. He realized that there was none of the jeering, none of the cat calls that had happened as the other guys had taken their turns. The team was picking up their equipment in an uncomfortable quiet. Pierce was gone. The STRIKE members filed out. 

The STRIKE captain slung his holster over his shoulder and turned to Rumlow. “New guy gets to clean up,” he said. “Do a good job or the docs will have your ass in a sling.” 

“Sir,” Rumlow replied. His eyes followed the captain as he walked out and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. With a sigh, he turned back to the asset and studied the situation. The asset was hanging limply from the restraints, his head bowed. Rumlow frowned. "Soldier! Did I tell you you could look away?"

Wearily, the asset looked up. "Very nice," Rumlow said. "I want those pretty blue eyes on me. Understood?" 

The asset nodded. 

"I can't hear you." 

"I understand." The asset’s voice was hoarse and gravelly. 

Rumlow slowly smiled. "Damn, but I love your spunk." He slid his fingers lightly down the asset’s chest causing goosebumps to raise in their wake. “I know you have better manners than that,” he chided. His fingers slid around, finding the abused hole and he ran his fingers over it so lightly, they barely made contact. 

The asset whimpered and arched away from his touch. Rumlow tsked and ran his thumbnail across the swollen flesh as the asset choked out, “Sir. I understand, sir.” 

Rumlow smiled, “Good,” he said. He pressed his nail a bit harder and watched as involuntary tears flowed down the asset’s face. Rumlow’s smile widened and his cock twitched when the asset did not break eye contact as he had been ordered. Rumlow continued to pressed even harder, sliding a knuckle into the torn flesh. A ragged sob escaped the asset's throat but those blue eyes did not move. Rumlow felt a thrill of delight at such obedience. What a fine creature this was!

Rumlow reached up with his other hand to touch the asset's face, running his thumb along the asset’s cheeks and brushing away the tears that flowed from his eyes. “You,” he commented with wonder, “are a superb thing.” He paused to run his hand down the hard body again, his thumb stroking the asset’s swollen nipples. The asset sucked in a breath between his teeth as he rubbed the bruised skin. “I am going to clean you now. I would like to do it without the restraints because I will be able to do a better job, and a tool like you deserves nothing but the best upkeep. However, I can leave you in cuffs if it is necessary.” 

The asset started to drop his head, to look at the floor, but Rumlow corrected him with a light touch to his chin. “Ah…ah…eye contact, Soldier.”

The asset lifted his head and met his eyes again. 

“So, is it necessary? Or will you behave?” Rumlow asked. 

The asset seemed confused so Rumlow clarified. “If I release you, will you behave?”

The asset frowned, lifting his head. Was it affront that crossed his eyes? “I’ll behave, sir,” he answered. 

“Good. Keep your eyes on me.” 

Rumlow kept the asset’s eyes captive as he reached out and wrapped his hands around the asset’s right wrist. He gently massaged the abused muscles, smoothing his fingers across the knots until they softened under his touch. He worked his way down the arm, the neck, the shoulder. He wrapped his arms around the asset and rubbed from the sides to the center, his fingers meeting at the asset’s vertebrae, and then slid back out. He knelt and worked his way down each leg. The asset’s legs were coated and sticky, which was unpleasant, but Rumlow ignored that for now. The muscles in the asset’s calves and instep were spasming under the stress of supporting him in this unnatural position and Rumlow patiently rubbed them until the twitching muscles stilled. He was rewarded with a soft whimper and he looked up to see that the asset was still looking at him, his eyes bright and wide. 

Straightening up, he used the back of his hand to smooth away a tear that had escaped the asset’s eyes. “It’s okay to cry,” he murmured. “You are doing so well. I am going to let you down now. Stand if you can, drop to your knees if you have to. Keep your eyes on me. Understood?”

“Sir,” the asset whispered. 

Rumlow released the catch on the chain. He had planned to lower the asset to the ground slowly, but he was unprepared for the weight. The chain slid through his slippery hands. The asset crumpled to his knees and fell forward on his hands, panting. Rumlow walked back over to him and crouched down, touching his chin again. “Look at me,” he corrected. 

The asset looked up, “Sorry, sir.” 

“Don’t do it again.” He draped the asset’s human arm over his shoulders and wrapped his arm around his waist. “Let’s get you to the shower.” 

With his help, the asset staggered to his feet and they made their way to the bathroom. Rumlow turned the shower on warm, testing the water temperature. As he waited for it to adjust, he stripped off his own clothes. He was about to step into the shower when he looked back at the asset, considering. “Any issue with getting your arm wet?” he asked. 

The asset shook his head. “Not unless the casing is damaged, and it’s not.” 

“Good.” He stepped into the shower, rinsing off his hands and then he guided the asset into the spray. “Face the wall and put your hands on it. Lean in. Spread your feet.” He put his own foot between the asset’s nudging them a bit further apart, a bit farther from the wall, so the asset was held off balance. He lifted the sprayer from the shower head. “Now, stay still.” 

As with the massage, he took his time, working his way down the asset’s body. He soaped and rinsed, methodically cleaning and shining and polishing, just like he did with his guns. He took the asset’s hand and scrubbed the mission’s dirt from his fingernails. He shampooed his hair. He worked the dried blood from his legs. He lifted the asset’s foot and ran the abrasive scrubby across his instep, watching as his toes curled. The asset’s body gradually began to relax under his touch and the rock hard muscles grew pliant under his fingers.

He was nearly done. There was an attachment for this shower head he had never seen before, but it’s function was clear enough. Smooth, bullet shaped and a bit thicker than his finger, it had sprayers at the pointed end. 

Rumlow reached over the asset’s arm and pulled a lock of hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. He rested one hand on the asset’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. “This is going to sting like the dickens,” he said. “You can cry out.” Rumlow again adjusted the asset’s feet spreading them wider, pulling them further away from the wall. He pressed the smooth end against the asset’s hole and coaxed the point in, activating the sprayer. 

The asset screamed, his knees going weak and he started to fall. “Stand!” Rumlow growled, holding the sprayer still while the asset straightened his knees and resolutely repositioned his hands on the wall. Rumlow squeezed his shoulder and continued pressing the sprayer in. Bloody water poured out around the sprayer. The asset’s finger’s dug into the wall and the metal hand cracked the tile it rested against. Rumlow felt his cock stir again and a smile curled his lips. 

He kept it there until the water ran clear and the asset was trembling with the effort of standing still. Drawing the wand out, he commented, “Clean, inside and out.” The asset looked at him through a curtain of hair, but did not reply. 

He shut off the shower. “Let’s finish up. You stay there a moment.”

Rumlow stepped out and picked up a towel, drying himself off. He admired his handiwork, the lines of the soldier’s body as he leaned into the wall, unbalanced and vulnerable, the way his hair curtained his face, the way his legs trembled with the strain of holding the position. He gripped his own cock and stroked it, feeling it harden under his hand as he looked. 

He grabbed another towel. “Come on out, Soldier.” 

The asset reached out for the towel as he stepped out, but Rumlow shook his head and gestured for the asset to stand. He was not going to miss another chance to handle this body. As he finished, he used the corner of the towel to wipe the remaining drops from the asset’s face. 

The asset met his eyes and then glanced down at Rumlow’s erection. Rumlow smiled at him. “Do you want to do something about that?” he asked. 

The asset’s brow furrowed, not sure how to answer. Rumlow watched his confusion with amusement. He touched the asset’s chin and the asset lifted his eyes. The asset stammered, “I...I don’t…I do...”

Rumlow chuckled softly knowing he was pushing at the edges of the asset’s programming. “You command STRIKE on a mission. You are telling me you can run a ten man assassination squad but you can’t tell me what you are going to do about this?” The helpless, lost look was almost too much. 

Solving the problem for him, Rumlow grabbed his hand and led him over to the cot. He sat and spread his knees. The asset sank down between Rumlow’s legs and kneeled with his hands clasped his hands behind his back, as he must have been trained. Leaning forward, the asset buried his face in Rumlow's crotch, licking his balls, lipping the underside of his cock. Rumlow fisted his hair, pulling him onto the shaft and watched the asset work, sucking, licking and swallowing it deep into his throat. He was good and it was not long before Rumlow felt the pressure build and he shot off into the asset’s mouth. The asset swallowed and sat back on his heels, looking up. 

Rumlow carded his fingers through the asset’s hair and then fondly patted his cheek. “Well done.” 

The asset blinked at the praise, “Thank you, sir.” 

There was a syringe with sedative waiting on a side table, and as Rumlow stood, he picked it up. "On your feet," he ordered and the asset stiffly unfolded himself. “You are done for now, Soldier,” Rumlow said. The asset watched as Rumlow uncapped the needle and pressed it into his leg. 

“Is there another mission?” the asset asked.

“There is always another mission, but for you, I think it will be a while. I heard they were putting you back in cryo tomorrow.” 

The asset nodded once, his balance faltering as the sedative took effect. Rumlow reached out and put a hand on him. “Lie down before you fall down.”

The asset settled on the cot and Rumlow spread a blanket over him. 

Rumlow sat next to him and traced his fingers along the asset’s earlobe. The asset looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You did good, today, Soldier. Out on the mission, you were like nothing I have ever seen. Powerful. Decisive. The way you slid through the shadows, the way you flowed from one target to the next with the knife.” Rumlow stroked the asset’s cheek and the asset's eyes fluttered closed. “And in here, so beautiful. Yielding, submitting, and still so powerful.” 

The asset’s breathing slowed and Rumlow figured he was asleep. He stood and finished cleaning up. Sloshing a bucket of water on the floor, the blood and cum flowed down the drain. He tossed the towels in the hamper and left the spreader bar and chain coiled up in the corner. 

When he walked out into the control room, four members of STRIKE were sitting around the security monitors with their feet on the desk. Every monitor was switched to a camera from the asset's cell. “Gonna bring him flowers?” the captain asked. 

“You two sure were sweet in there,” another commented. 

“It’s cause he is a bleedin' sadist. Were you watching what he did to the Soldier before? What he got off on?"

Rumlow shrugged. He was satisfied as he had never been before. No girl had ever made him feel like this. The sound of the Soldier’s whimpers echoing in his ear, the tears he had caused to flow still tingling on his hand. The willingness to please, even after what he had done to him. 

“You’re just jealous,” he said. “He sucked me off because he wanted to.” 

The captain scoffed, “You are just insane, letting his teeth anywhere near your dick.” 

Rumlow laughed, sated and impertinent. “Probably. See you tomorrow, sir.”


	2. 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow tries a little experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a few tags.

It was strange, the way his mind worked. It was not the way other people’s minds worked, that, he was sure. Take this room, for example. He did not remember coming into the room. He did not remember what was happening before he was in this room, but this room, he recognized. He had been in this room, or a room just like this room, a thousand times before. 

The table, this time, was square, wood, nicked and scarred from errant knives. Sometimes it was metal. Sometimes it was some artificial crap. Once it had been painted bright red. There was no chair this time, but usually there was. The kind of beat-up metal chair, or sometimes wood, that was found in closets and attics. The kind of chair that took year after year of abuse, that maybe got scratched up and ugly, but it retained its sturdiness. 

There was a cot in the corner. The mattress was thin; the blanket was green and scratchy. One time, he was pretty sure, it had been a real bed, with sheets and a comforter. Another time it had been an air mattress. This time, military grade surplus. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands. Yes, he recognized this room. This was the room he waited in before a mission. When he closed his eyes, he already had the target engraved in his mind. Red hair. Curly. Young. She’d be with a man with salt and pepper hair. Kill her, was his orders. Leave him unharmed. 

He heard the door rattle and he looked up, glancing around the room with a frown. He was seeing the space for the first time. The table, hadn’t it been red? He saw the door opening. He saw two soldiers carrying his mission gear, his weapons...

He frowned. There were two men walking through the door but neither carried his gear. An older man and a younger. Something small dangled from the younger man’s hand. Slowly, he dropped his hands and got to his feet. 

“I don’t want to jeopardize the mission, sir,” the younger one was saying. He was dressed in black and he moved like a soldier. 

“You won’t. Not this mission.” The older man was wearing a grey suit. Glasses. A civilian. 

His eyes went from the older man’s face to the younger and back. There was… something... something there. He met the younger man's eyes and the the younger man smiled in a approval. 

"Remarkable," the younger man said. 

"Yes," said the older man. “No, it is good to mix things up on him. I look forward to seeing the results of this little experiment.” 

The younger man walked over to him and he felt the hairs raise all along his right arm. He was half naked, just dressed in loose fitting sweat pants. They had not brought him his mission gear yet. A tingle crept up his spine. Anticipation, but for what? 

The younger man ran a hand down his chest, caressing. “Pre-mission trim,” he murmured in appreciation. The older man watched with amused eyes. 

The younger man toyed with the string that held his pants up and he glanced down. “Ah…” the man corrected and he looked quickly back up. 

He felt a tug as the younger man pulled the string loose on his pants. The younger man pulled at the waistband of the pants and they fell to the floor. “Wow…” he murmured. 

The older man stepped forward, laughing. “‘bout time you got first crack on him, Brock. You’ve been taking the leavings for years.” 

The younger man smiled, wrapping his hand around his cock, gently stroking it. He felt his cock begin to harden. There were no echoes of past experience here. He picked up his hands helplessly and the man said, “Behind your back.” That, at least, was something he understood. He gripped the metal hand in his flesh hand. 

His eyes widened as the younger man slid to his knees in front him and he looked wildly at the older man. The older man stood with crossed arms and he shook his head and pointed at the younger man at his feet. He looked down. 

The younger man had a hand wrapped around his balls, gently squeezing them. Then, he leaned in and took his cock in his mouth. The wave of warm pleasure that came with the sensation was unlike anything...anything he...unlike anything he… 

He moaned at the sensation, arching forward and he heard the older man chuckle, but his eyes were down on the younger man. The younger man pulled back, leaving his cock glistening wet and hard. 

The younger man sat back on his knees and brought something black and stringy into his view, momentary. He could not make out the details before the younger man slid the device over his cock, and he felt other straps being wrapped around his balls, At first the sensation was just unusual. Then, the young man pulled the straps tight and the air was driven from his lungs and his eyes widened, as far as they could go. 

Suddenly, his focus came back to his cock as the younger man again sucked him and the intensity of the sensation overwhelmed everything else. 

When he regained his senses he heard the younger man saying, “Send in Rollins with his gear. I’ll dress him.” 

The older man laughed as he left, “I bet you will. See you after the mission.” 

***

It was strange, the way his mind worked. It was not the way other people’s minds worked, that, he was sure. Take this roof, for example. He did not remember coming onto the roof. He did not remember what was happening before he was on this roof, but this roof he recognized. He had been on this roof, or a roof just like this roof, a thousand times before. 

He lay down on the asphalt shingles, his rifle planted firmly against his shoulder. The roof was dry this time, but sometimes it had been raining and he had laid in a puddle, or it had been windy and the shot had been next to impossible. Not today. He had a good view. There was little wind. It would be an easy shot. Now, it was just the waiting. Underneath his body, his cock throbbed with arousal bordering on pain. Without thinking about it, he rutted against the roof. 

In his ear there was an earbud. It would tell him when the target had left the building, who she was with, what she was wearing. But now, a voice came across. A voice chided gently, “Stop that. Be still,” and he froze, his erection hard under his body. 

Then the word came over his comms. She was coming. He settled in, his eye against the sight and waited for the shot. He took it. The recoil hit his body at the same time as she collapsed to the ground, a single bullet between her eyes. The man beside her staring blankly at place where she had stood. As the recoil hit him, his body jerked and another wave of intense pain washed with pleasure wracked his body, emanating from his throbbing genitals. “Ah...yes,” the voice said in his ear. “That was good.” 

***

It was strange, the way his mind worked. It was not the way other people’s minds worked, that, he was sure. Take this room, for example. He did not remember coming into the room. He did not remember what was happening before he was in this room, but this room, he recognized. He had been in this room, or a room just like this room, a thousand times before. 

They were stripping him. Shoulder holster, empty now. Had it held a gun? Tac vest. Shirt. Leg holster. Also empty. There had been a gun there. One bullet. He frowned, trying to remember. Why one bullet?

Abruptly he was distracted when they pulled his belt from his pants. The feel of the strap sliding through the loops, the hiss of the leather against the kevlar sent his nerves singing, a pure tone that started in his groin and echoed throughout his limbs. 

When he was aware of the room again, the rest of his clothing had been removed. He did not remember his boots being unlaced or his pants slipping off his body. He stood naked now, bare, and four men stood around him. They were talking but he did not hear the words. His eyes sought out each face until it found one, one face to fasten on. The face belonged to a man who was standing on the outside, his back against the wall, arms crossed. The man smiled when their eyes met. Pushing off the wall, the man came forward and stood in front of him. 

“What do you think?” the man said to the others. “Ready to play?” 

“What, Brock, with that thing on him?” 

“His cock is fucking purple.” 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

“Are you serious?” 

The man standing in front of him reached out and fondled his cock. The touch was light but it felt like sandpaper being dragged across his skin. He reflexively reached forward, to push the hand away, but the man ordered, “Behind your back.” 

He gripped his metal hand in his flesh hand as the man’s grasp on his cock firmed. A moan escaped his lips. 

“Oh, it is going to get better. You’ll see.” 

“You are crazy, Brock.” 

“You know it.” The man released his cock. “On your knees,” he ordered. 

He got down on one knee and then the other, keeping his eyes on the man’s face, his hands clasped behind his back. The man stepped close to him, stroking the side of his face, running his thumb along his cheekbone. Staring into the man’s face, he suddenly did not remember how he came to be here, what had come before. This position, though, he recognized. He had knelt at this man’s feet, his hands behind his back, before. 

The man took a lock of his hair and tucked it behind his ear, gently stroking the earlobe. This was a moment that had happened before. He looked at the man The man stepped back and put a hand on the back of his neck, pressing him forward. “Spread your knees and bend over.”

It was awkward getting into position with his hands behind his back and he half fell on his face. The man leaned over him and spoke softly in his ear, “Settle in, Soldier. You are going to be here for a while.” The man’s hand squeezed his neck firmly. Something about the touch was comforting and he turned his face to the side, pressing the cool, smooth floor against his face. The man’s fingers slid along his back and he felt a cord wrap loosely around his wrists. “Grip it,” the man ordered, and he tangled his fingers around the cord. The man sat up. 

“Very nice,” one of the others said. 

“Can we get started?” 

“Not yet,” the man said. “Just let me…” 

“What are you going to do with that?” one of them asked. 

“Watch,” the man said. “And learn.” 

He felt the man behind him, and something hard pressing against his upper thighs, something like a bar. Then he felt the hand between his legs, gripping the straps that were wrapped around his balls. As the straps were tugged, he whimpered with pain. His body tensed. The man put his hand on the small of his back. “Easy,” he murmured. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Again, there was a tug on the straps and the pain shot through him, but this time it crested and levelled out. The man’s hand withdrew and the bar across his legs stayed in place. Experimentally, he started to shift his weight but he was stopped by the pull on his balls. The man leaned over him again, a finger pressing against his ass. “You can push back,” he said. 

He tried it, pushing back onto the finger and he felt it slide into his body as the tension eased on his balls. “Good boy,” the man said. The man withdrew. “Okay,” the man said as he stood. He saw the man’s shoes pass by his face. “All yours, boys.” 

The next span of time, he did not know how long, was a blur. One man after another took their turns kneeling between his legs. He found when he pushed back onto the cock, driving it deep within his body, an intense burst coupled with the easing of the stress on his balls overwhelmed everything. And then, when the cock withdrew for another thrust, the pain made his eyes dim, until it thrust back into his body and he shoved onto it, feeling the man’s balls pressing hard against his ass. 

It went on and on, the need building in him, but the straps were wrapped so tight release could not come. Eventually, the third one pulled out and he was panting and crying and he could not say if it was out of the need for release or the need for the pain to cease. It was all bound up in a confused tangle of desperation. 

And then, the man was back, the gentle touch stroking the small of his back, right where his spine ended and the crease of his ass started. The hand slid down, cupping his butt cheek and then gripping the stick pressed against his legs. “I am going to let you up,” he said. There was a yank and a lance shot through him. The bar fell from his legs. 

There was a tug on the cord that he held in his hands and he felt it slip from his fingers. Without the cord’s support, his hands fell to his sides, lying limply on the cool floor as blood rushed back into his right arm. His shoulder burned. 

The man was kneeling behind him. He felt the man hard against him. He closed his eyes as he felt the man enter his body. 

“Get up,” the man said. The man gripped his shoulders, pulling him upright and settling him back onto his cock. The man wrapped his arms around him, supporting, and he leaned back. “That’s good,” the man said. 

It was all he could do to keep his balance as the man held him, his hands toying with his nipples and then sliding down to caress his swollen balls. “Oh, sir,” he mumbled. The man thrusted in, finding the sensitive spot and he groaned. The man kept toying with the straps that were wrapped around his balls, pulling on them, playing with them. Suddenly there was a sharp tug and the cords fell away. He screamed in agony as the man came behind him. 

The man held him close, pulling him back on his lap, holding him as the sobs tore from his chest. “Yes,” the man murmured. “Let it out, let the pain out.” And for those few minutes, he sat in the man’s arms, safe and protected as he slowly returned to his body. 

Eventually, his tears ceased and the man asked, “Can you stand?” 

He thought about it and nodded. “Yes, sir,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. 

“Good,” the man replied. “We need to get you cleaned up.” 

“Yes, sir.” he said. He looked around the room and frowned. He was not sure how he got here, kneeling on the floor of this room, his genitals pulsing in time with his heart, his ass burning. But the gentle touch of the man was familiar. This had happened before. He staggered to his feet and he let the man lead him to the bathroom. 

Once in the shower he stood, his feet apart, leaning forward, off balance, as he had done before. He bowed his head and the water flowed over him. 

The man was careful with him as he washed him and massaged the burning muscles. Finally, the man wrapped his hand around his dick and with firm strokes, allowed him to come. The release, when it came, was so intense, so pleasurable, his breath was taken away. 

When the hot water ran cold, the man dried him off and they stood together by the bed. The man picked up the syringe and held it for a moment, uncapped. 

“You were spectacular today, Soldier.” 

He looked up, meeting the man’s eyes and he frowned. He had been here before, standing with this man, weary and sore. But what had come before? He did not remember. He was pretty sure that was not how most people’s memory worked, but it was how his did. “Sir?” he asked. 

“So brave. Tell me, did you like it?” 

Like what? He frowned at the man. “I am not sure, sir.” 

The man nodded. “Of course not,” he said. The man pressed the needle into his leg and it burned as the medicine went into the muscle. 

“Well,” the man said, “I liked it. A lot.” 

He thought about it and decided, if it was something that this man liked, it must be good. This man took care of him. He staggered as the drug started to take effect and the man guided him to the cot, spreading the blanket over him. 

“Sir,” he mumbled as sleep started to take him. “Anything you like, I like too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really think that the Winter Soldier's mind works like this, but it is an interesting space to play in.


	3. 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whomever put the Soldier away last time did not properly maintain him. He now needs some TLC to function properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-con massage??? No actual outright sadism on this one. 
> 
> Really, I am as baffled as you are.

**1999**

Rumlow sat alone in the STRIKE ready room, watching tape of the training runs that had happened today. There were some new guys on STRIKE since the Soldier was last activated and he had convinced the pointy headed crew to wake him a few days early for this mission to get them acclimated. Even so. The new guys could not be blamed for the fucking disaster that today’s training had become. 

It had started off poorly. At the time, he had not been able to pinpoint it, but the Soldier was almost distracted. Unfocused. Then during sparring, the Soldier - usually patient with the new bugs - had broken one guy’s arm and another’s femur in less than a minute. Both were benched for weeks. Later, on the obstacle course, the Soldier had injured himself, missing a grab as he had flung himself across a rope bridge. He had dislocated his own shoulder in the fall. 

Rumlow fast forwarded to the tape until he found the last incident. He stared at the screen with narrowed eyes as the Soldier missed a shot. Once. Twice. It had seemed inconceivable at the time, and now it was even more mind boggling. It was not even that hard of a shot. In his experience, the Soldier never missed a shot. Ever. What was going on?

Rumlow rewound the tape and watched it again, zooming in on the Soldier’s face. It took a moment for the computer to enhance the image, but there it was. Before the shot, the Soldier’s eyes were glistening, full of tears. Seconds later, after the Soldier realized he had missed, the expression had changed - from something like sorrow to anger. The Soldier made the shot and then he had kept firing, his eyes blazing with fury, until he had emptied the entire magazine. By the time the clip was empty, he had been screaming at the target, raging. Rumlow himself had fired the anesthetic darts. Bang, bang, bang. The Soldier, suddenly silent, had fallen like a stone. 

Two hours later, the docs had worked him over. Fixing the shoulder had been trivial, but then they had had him in the chair for nearly an hour, running diagnostics, wiping his memory. They had no explanation for the behavior. All they could say was that the wipe had not stuck the first time and they could not explain why. As best as they could tell, it was not sticking this time, either. 

Frowning, Rumlow picked up the file for the previous mission report. Huh. He had not been on that one. He had been...That’s right. Peirce had sent him off to be Coulson’s muscle, investigating some stupid dead end. 

The Soldier’s target had been some Guatemalan politician and his family. Two adults, three kids, eight security. He read that the Soldier had taken out eleven of the thirteen targets in something less than seven minutes. STRIKE had gotten the other two. The only reason the Soldier had not gotten to them first is that they were a mile away, on the far side of the politician’s compound. 

He got to the last page, the final check-off before they put had him back in cryo and he frowned at the initials on that page. Agent Liu. Suddenly he knew what was wrong. 

He flipped a switch on the monitor and the replay was replaced with a live feed of the security camera in the Soldier’s room. As with the last time he had looked, and the time before that, the Soldier was exercising. At the moment, he was doing one armed pull ups, his metal arm tucked behind his back. Before it had been situps. Before that, he had been hanging from the pull up bar, lifting his legs. As far as Rumlow knew, the Soldier had not stopped since he had woken up from the treatment. 

He was used to the Soldier exercising when he was bored, but when it came down to it, the Soldier was not so different than most soldiers. Given unassigned time, he’d usually choose to take a nap. This kind of non-stop working out was hardly characteristic. 

Rubbing his eyes, Rumlow sat back and picked up the phone. He dialed and then waited for a moment. 

“Sir?” he said. “Can we push back the timeline 24 hours?” 

He listened and replied. “Yes, sir. I think I know.” 

Again he paused. “Thank you, sir.” 

****

Rumlow stood outside the Soldier’s door, fingering the rope he had taken from the obstacle course. Suddenly he was nervous. This was not like the other times. So much more was riding on it. He’d’ve liked to have yelled at Liu for allowing the Soldier to be put away like that, but Liu was dead. Letting his breath out explosively, he waved his badge on the scanner and went in. 

The Soldier was doing crunches (again?), but as soon as Rumlow stepped in the room, he stopped, rolling into a cross legged position. He was just wearing gym shorts and his skin was flushed, coated with a fine sheen of sweat. The seam where the metal arm met his skin was bright red and angry. The Soldier pushed his hair back out of his eyes and Rumlow watched as he looked up at him, eyeing the rope and then meeting his eyes, questioningly. After a moment, he asked, “Is there a mission?” 

Rumlow tossed the rope and his bag of supplies onto the Soldier’s cot and he crouched down, balancing lightly on his toes in front of the Soldier. “Not yet,” he said. “Soon. We have some...training we need to do first.” 

The Soldier tilted his head, still meeting Rumlow’s eyes. Rumlow smiled, reaching out to stroke the Soldier’s cheek. “You are a fine thing,” he said quietly. Then he stood, holding out a hand to the Soldier. The Soldier took his hand and he pulled him to his feet. “Go rinse off,” he said. “Use the hottest water you can stand.” 

While the Solider was in the shower, he set up, anchoring ropes to the legs of the cot. There was no fucking way this was strong enough to restrain him if he decided to fight, but that was sort of the point. Just as he finished, he looked up to see the Soldier standing in the doorway to the bathroom, the towel wrapped around his waist. “Sir?” he asked. 

The Soldier was something to behold. The definition of the muscles under his flushed skin. The glistening metal arm. The alert posture, ready to spring into action. Rumlow walked over to him and lightly slid his fingers over the Soldier’s rippling pectoral muscles, feeling their hard waves under the smooth skin. “You probably don’t remember,” he began, “but after your last mission, I was not there. Liu and the others, they didn’t…” He knew the word he wanted was “maintain” but he could not force it out of his lips. “They didn’t take care of you properly,” he finished. His thumb found the line in the center of the Soldier’s chest, the seam where right met left, he slid the thumb downward, coming to rest on the Soldier’s solar plexus, feeling the delicate bone underneath. He looked into the Soldier’s eyes. “You understand?” 

The Soldier shook his head. “No sir,” he said. 

Rumlow pressed his lips together. “You’ve been remembering things, right? Of your last mission.” 

The Soldier nodded. 

“And those memories, they haunt you?”

“Every time I close my eyes,” he whispered. “I hear screaming. Begging. And then I open my eyes and...”

Rumlow put his finger on the Soldier’s lips. “Shhh.” he said. “Enough. I am here to help you. When we are done, those memories won’t bother you anymore. You’ll be strong again.” 

The Soldier closed his eyes and opened them, looking at Rumlow with relief. “I was afraid I was broken, Sir. That they would...they would,” his eyes hardened into a angry fear, “That they would _decommission_ me.” 

Rumlow shook his head. “No. Just like a gun that got put away dirty, you just need a bit of TLC. I’ll get you fixed up.” 

The Soldier bowed his head. Relief? Gratitude? Resignation? Rumlow could not tell what emotion was on his face. “Ah…” Rumlow corrected, touching his chin, and instantly the Soldier met his eyes. “Good boy,” he said. 

He pulled the towel from the Soldier’s waist, letting it fall to the ground and then he gestured at the bed. “Go lay down,” he said, “face down.” 

Rumlow watched as the Soldier walked away from him, eyeing the broad shoulders, the waist that narrowed slightly, the powerful curves of his buttocks and legs and he felt himself harden. Brutally, he shoved that away. Later he could take care of his own needs. No, this was about the Soldier. About proper maintenance. About the mission. 

He pulled a chair next to the Soldier’s cot and sat down. The Soldier turned his head to look at him. He laid his hand lightly on the Soldier’s shoulder, fingering the line of puckered, reddened skin where the metal met flesh. “Does this hurt?” he asked. 

The Soldier shrugged. “The sensation is strange. It’s not really painful, not like a cut or a broken bone, but it’s not like touching me away from the arm.” 

“Do you like it?”

The Soldier frowned. “Sir?”

Rumlow made a “hmph” noise, withdrawing his hand. “Nevermind.” He stood and moved over to the head of the cot, crouching down to gather the ropes he had left there. “Bring your hands up,” he ordered. The Soldier did. “Is your shoulder still sore?” Rumlow asked. 

The Soldier shook his head. “No sir. It’s fine.” 

“Good.” 

Rumlow took his time, wrapping the rope around the metal wrist and tying it off with a knot. Then he looped the rope several times around the other wrist. The back of the Soldier’s hand still bore a taped down IV port from earlier, and he was careful to work around it. “Hold this,” he told the Soldier, putting the rope in the Soldier’s hand and closing his fingers around it. When he was finished with the Soldier’s arms, he moved to the his ankles, tying them down to opposite corners of the bed. 

Rumlow came back to the Soldier’s side and sat down in the chair. He leaned back, admiring the body stretched out in front of him. He really liked the way the ropes held the legs apart, shaping the muscles in his thighs and buttocks. He liked the way the Soldier’s shoulder muscles were bunched up. He liked the tension, the taut lines of the Soldier’s body. 

The soldier was laying with his head turned to the side, facing towards Rumlow. Rumlow reached out and brushed some hair back, tucking it behind the Soldier’s ear so he could see his face. He asked, “Soldier, could you get free of the restraints?” 

He watched as the Soldier tested the bonds, tugging at them. “Yes,” he answered. 

“If you were not tied, even naked and unarmed, could you kill me?”

The Soldier lifted his head and looked at Rumlow over his arm, searching. And then he dropped his head. “If I beat you to the tranq gun, yeah.” 

“Are you going to?” 

“No,” the soldier whispered. 

“No, you are not,” Rumlow agreed. He rested his hand on the back of the Soldier’s neck, gripping it lightly. “You kill, for Hydra, on orders.” 

“Yes,” the Soldier replied. 

Rumlow leaned forward putting the heels of his hands on the muscles on either side of the Soldier’s spine. Pressing firmly, he let his hands slide to the Soldier’s sides. He heard a soft moan for from the Soldier and he smiled slightly as he brought his hands back to the center and repeated the motion, shifting downward. 

Rumlow had not given many backrubs in his life. The few times he had, it had been for Diane. Diane had been his girl for a few years and she had been a dainty thing. His broad hands had spanned her slender back and her fragile ribs had been distinct under his fingers. His coarse calloused fingers had been rough on the smooth skin between her shoulders and she had always giggled as he had inadvertently hit a ticklish spot. 

The Soldier’s back was completely different. The broad expanse of the Soldier’s shoulders and torso, large enough that when the heals of his hands were on the Soldier’s spine, his fingers did not quite reach around the man’s side. The firm layer of muscles under his hands, sliding under the smooth skin, cushioned his touch from the bones underneath. There was no way, even pressing with his full weight, that he could hurt the Soldier and that let him loose himself in the feel of skin against skin. He found himself closing his eyes, his own breathing slowing and deepening as he worked. 

The muscles were still tense and hard but after a few minutes, as he worked his way down the Soldier’s spine and then back up, he felt the tension begin to ease. “Very good,” he murmured. 

He shifted his position, wrapping his hands around the Soldier’s deltoid. The bulging muscle filled his hands and he inched down the arm, caressing the tricep and bicep, down towards the rope still firmly wrapped around the Soldier’s wrist. 

When he got to the Soldier’s hand, he held it, gripping the wrist with one hand. “Let go of the rope for a moment,” he told the Soldier. When the Soldier released it and Rumlow straightened each finger, one at a time, massaging his way to the tip. When he was done, he put the rope back in the Soldier’s palm and curled his fingers around it, pausing to make sure the IV port was clear. 

Sliding his fingertips lightly up the Soldier’s arm, he brought one hand back to the Soldier’s neck. He gripped it, digging his fingers into the muscles on either side. He worked his way up to the base of the Soldier’s skull. He knew from the schematics that there were implants near this spot, the neural interface for the arm, the pituitary enhancer, but he did not know enough anatomy to feel them under his fingers. 

He let his hand come to rest and he looked down at the Soldier, waiting for a moment to let the weight of his hand settle. The soldier’s eyes had been closed, but now he opened the one on the top. 

Rumlow traced his thumb under the Soldier’s ear, sliding it over the jugular and he felt the Soldier tremble. “You need to let go, Soldier” he said. “Trust your orders.” 

He could feel the rise of the Soldier’s ribs under his hand as he took a deep breath and then let it out. He found the Soldier’s pulse under his thumb and he stroked it. “Us grunts, we don’t see the big picture. We kill when they they say kill, we die when they say die.” 

Rumlow put his other hand on the Soldier’s lower back and when the moment of submission came, he could feel it, shuddering through his entire body. “Good boy,” he said, keeping contact. 

The Soldier lay quietly for a few minutes and Rumlow sat with him, his hands resting on the Soldier’s body, rising and falling with each breath. Finally the Soldier spoke. “Can the docs fix me?” he asked.

Rumlow released the Soldier’s neck and reached down between the Soldier’s arm and head to stroke his cheek. “They tell me they can.” 

The Soldier let out a breath in relief. “Thank you, sir.” 

Rumlow bent down and pulled the bag from under the bed. The Soldier watched as he reached in and took out the syringe the doc had given him. The doc had scoffed, “Can’t hurt to try,” he had said when Rumlow had explained his plan. 

Crouching by the Soldier’s head with the syringe in his mouth, Rumlow unwrapped the rope from around the Soldier’s wrist and gently chafed the red marks the rope had left. Taking the syringe from his teeth, he uncapped it and pressed it into the IV port on the Soldier’s hand. Checking his watch he said, “Let’s get you up.” He released the knot around the metal wrist. “We have about ten minutes before the dio-benz..whatever takes effect.” The Soldier lowered his arms shrugging his shoulders as Rumlow released his legs. “I’ll take you back to the docs and let’s see what they can do.” 

***

Rumlow stood on the sideline of the track, watching the Soldier work with the STRIKE agent who would be driving for this mission. The driver was one of the new STRIKE members and when they had started practicing two hours ago, he was consistently too cautious for the Soldier’s tactics. The Soldier was coaching him, and even though the car they were practicing with was all but destroyed, the driver was doing much better at keeping the car steady as the Soldier leapt onto and off of the roof. 

Rumlow heard someone walk up behind him and he turned. Secretary Pierce stood beside him. “Hello, sir.” Rumlow greeted him. 

Pierce nodded and turned to watch the action on the track. The Soldier was standing outside of the car door, talking to the driver. Then, he swung up onto the roof and the car started to move. “Good work, yesterday,” Pierce said. 

“I am glad it worked.” 

“What was the trick?” 

Rumlow looked over at the car. It was driving at highway speeds now, with the Soldier on the roof, aiming at targets set up along the trackside. “I think the conditioning works better, sir, when the last thing he remembers before going under is a reason to trust us.” 

“Interesting theory.” 

Rumlow shrugged. “I guess it does not really matter. So long as he is functioning now.” 

Pierce clapped him on the shoulder. “Whatever it takes. Hail Hydra.” 

Rumlow looked at him, meeting Pierce’s eyes, and he replied, “Hail Hydra.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first stab at writing something so far into the reaches of non-con, and nearly my first attempt at porn. Con-crit is welcomed! 
> 
> Not sure if there will be more chapters - I sort of see this as a series of vignettes spanning the next 25 years of Rumlow's career, but I am not sure if I have the fortitude to write them.


End file.
